the hand that rules the world
by QueenPersephoneofHades
Summary: Curiosity killed the cat, but a soul was literally being born in front of her; how could she resist? Companion piece to 'the hand that rocks the cradle'. SPOILERS FOR 'AGE OF ULTRON'.


There is a spark, the tiniest glimmer of _something_ at the edge of her senses, and she knew it worked.

"I can hear him," she breathed quietly, edging forward toward the Cradle, "He is… dreaming."

It wasn't the right word – she doubted there even _was_ a word to describe the soft hum of life slowly awakening directly underneath her fingertips – but it was as close as she could get.

The scientist says something, about Ultron's base consciousness uploading into the body that is both man and machine, but she knows that's isn't true, not completely; while she can feel slight traces of cold and calculated musings buried deep within, most of the mind taking shape within the Cradle is not what she'd expect from the brutal robot currently trying to inhabit it.

Curiosity killed the cat, like they always say, but she cannot resist; a _soul_ is being born right in front of her. How could she resist taking a peek?

A hand, hesitant, feather-light, presses against the surface of the Cradle, and she reaches for him gently, not wishing to overwhelm him – _him_ , he was a _him_ , not an _it_ , because he was _alive_ , if just barely – but somehow getting sucked in anyway.

Golden light, weak and small though it was, rose to meet her searching scarlet tendrils, and her heart clenches within her chest – he is _alonedarkvoid_ _ **blank**_ , with only a hint of **curiosity** and **life** that she can find – and it is frightening, so very, very frightening. She could never imagine being so alone in the world such as this; for though she had lost much, she had never been alone with Pietro at her side always and forever.

His mind is empty of everything she has come to recognize as normal; even the most base thoughts, the absent-minded whims all people had at one time or another, aren't where they were supposed to be.

He is **alive** but also **new** and **inexperienced** ; he does not know _war_ or _hunger_ or _trial_ or _failure_ or _pain_. All he knows is **alone** , and as she looks into his head and he into hers she realizes with a jolt that he _does not want to be_.

He can feel her rooting around, and responds in kind, carefully stretching their connection until he can see into her head without limitation.

It doesn't even occur to her to resist; there is no ill intent in the action, and though a bit invasive there is something different about sharing your life experiences with a mind so new and different and _pure_ like this one.

He is curious and he has a right to be; he didn't exist until about five minutes ago, so she does not begrudge him this chance to learn about humanity.

And as it continues, a rush of affection and wonder floods her:

He is _curious about the sky, the birds and beasts of the earth that she has seen all her life but he has never known._

He is _understanding of her rage and pain, though he has no experience to base the feelings off of._

He is _disturbed by thunder, bothered by the fact that it causes such fear in her._

He is _confused by such odd human traditions such as holidays and hugs and candy and bedtime stories and sports and dancing and a thousand hundred other things humans do._

He is _nameless_ but he is not **alone** anymore, and that makes him… _**happy.**_

She feels a smile slip onto her face, glad that he is enjoying their connection; he is young and naïve and _**pure**_ _,_ so very _**pure**_ that it almost hurts to look at, but he sees her life and is fascinated by it.

But as he slips farther into her mind, she slips a bit further into his, and the yellow sparks are washed out by a darker, more sinister crimson. She is surprised for a moment – why is someone else here? – before she recalls what the doctor said – Ultron was downloading himself into this vessel – and even as a wave of distress hits her at the realization that the mind she had just connected to would be ripped away, she is hit by something worse-

 _ **falling mountain**_

 _ **black fire**_

 _ **everything**_ _burning,_ **burning,** _ **BURNING-**_

The connection she'd had to the beautiful being severs as she reels back, gasping for breath and resisting the urge to shriek in terror.

Her head pounds furiously and everything blurs around her as she realizes she's still in the medical center, still alive, still breathing and not burning to cinders.

Pietro is there, trying to cradle her face in his palms, but she's too busy staring at the large silver form across from them. "How could you?" she whispered.

But she already knew.

This was not the gentle golden light within the Cradle; this was crimson horror, seeking to _**burn**_ everything.

The image of the Earth consumed by flames rears within her psyche, destroying everything; her home, her country, her people, _all_ people _everywhere-_

The sweet golden soul would be born into a world made of charred, dead black.

And that was not an option.

* * *

 **A/N: FINALLY FINISHED YES. Wanda's POV is really difficult for me for some reason. Anyway, hope you enjoyed; please leave a review or a favorite if you did!  
~Persephone**


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